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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28965810">Storms</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat_Of_Dresden/pseuds/ClaraCivry'>ClaraCivry (Kat_Of_Dresden)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Umbrella Academy (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Gen, Number Five | The Boy Whump, Number Five | The Boy has PTSD, Protective Diego Hargreeves, Soft Diego Hargreeves</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:02:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,200</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28965810</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat_Of_Dresden/pseuds/ClaraCivry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Five has a bad flashback from his apocalypse times. </p><p>Diego is there to help.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Number Five | The Boy &amp; Diego Hargreeves</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>144</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Storms</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The apocalypse part is before Five found Dolores, ok?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The electrical ash and dust typhoon like storm took everything away from him, again.</p><p>He'd been what, four years, five years in that hellhole? It was really hard to keep track.</p><p>But after screaming for help until his throat was raw, after having to bury his siblings (and it took months, because he was a small guy, and they weren't, and he... it was so hard, but they shouldn't rot on the street, not them too), after crying for days and nights and hoping against hope that someone would come, someone would help, that his power would let him go back....</p><p>Five had accepted that this wasteland was his home now, and had started trying to make it more habitable. It wasn't much, and it took him very long to find, but he had some supplies, a couple of books (broken, faded, half-burnt, but some passages could still be read), a bunch of food cans. Something to feel like he had some space for himself, that maybe he wouldn't have to fight to live to the next day.</p><p>And then it came, and it took it all away. Hurricane winds, ash that burned your lungs, and the sound of thunder, coming closer and closer, so close that he thought he was going to become deaf.....</p><p>The hurricane took him, as if he weighed nothing, as if he was nothing,  and for a while, he was just like a leaf on the wind travelling way too fast until he collided, harshly, against the floor. It was scary, and it hurt, and there was no one to get him out, to rescue him - there never was. It was just him and the storm, this typhoon with such loud thunder that wanted him dead.</p><p>This storm that took away what little he'd managed to get, painstakingly, slowly, with so much effort, now it was all gone, burned, disappeared, disintegrated by ash and acid rain. He had nothing again, and he was in pain, in so much pain, just crying against the dirt, on the floor, scrunching his eyes tightly every time he could hear thunder.</p><p>It was coming for him. To tear him apart, and everything that brought him comfort.</p><p>.... he thought he'd left, he thought it had ended, but somehow he was in the middle of it again.</p><p>And it was hurting worse than ever.</p><p>*</p><p>Diego didn't know what the fuck he should do. Call someone? Would mom know how the to help? Where was she anyway? Klaus probably would, but he had no idea where the hell he might be.</p><p>No, there was just him and Five in the house, and something was wrong, very very wrong with Five, who was made a ball on a corner of the floor, trembling terribly, face crossed with tears, eyes tightly shut, and a expression of pure pain.</p><p>"Five? Are you okay, buddy?"</p><p>
  <em>He obviously isn't, you numbskull!</em>
</p><p>He didn't know what to do. Part of him wanted to just embrace him and rock him like mom used to do, you know? Cover all of the kid, tell him he was safe now, that nothing was wrong here, that he would protect him of any and every danger.</p><p>But Diego really didn't know if that was a good choice, if someone touching him out of the blue would make him worse, if Five would think he was an attacker and go against him, or even hurt more, no... Diego didn't know where Five's mind was, but it was some very bad memory, which meant he needed to tread carefully.</p><p>Still, it broke him to see Five like this, he who always had the answers, he who kept on fighting after being shot at, and knocked out, and buried under rubble.. He was probably the strongest of them, and to see him made a little ball, to see him moaning and just hurting so badly...</p><p>Diego may not be the sharpest crayon of the them all, but he'd gotten good at observing details in his vigilante times - this time he noticed that every time there was thunder Five shook worse, buried in himself further. Maybe it was the storm that was trapping him in wherever the hell he was, maybe it was even what triggered this!</p><p>Wasting no time, Diego closed all the blinds, all the shutters, everything that could minimise the noise and help see the lightning, and then he looked for music, he knew Klaus had left one of those portable stereo thingies and some cds, god, blast it, take it to the kitchen, Diego, blast so that all that could be heard was music, and the storm was deafened by guitars and singing voices.</p><p>He didn't know if it would work, didn’t know if this was the right step to take, but when they were halfway through the first song, Five took away the arms from his face, and opened his eyes, that slowly started to focus. Five kept looking around himself as if what he was seeing was impossible, as if he couldn't understand.</p><p>Diego approached carefully, with his hands up, as if he were approaching a wounded baby deer or something. Poor five did look a bit like that in this moment.  </p><p>"Five, you're home. You're safe."</p><p>His face was still wet with tears, his eyes bloodshot, but as he looked around... He seemed to start to understand.</p><p>"Diego?"</p><p>Former number two broke into a smile. It really felt amazing to have Five back again, away from whatever horror his mind had taken him to</p><p>"Yeah, it's me, I'm here. You’re safe, Five, you are.” </p><p>"Is... really you?"</p><p>Diego nodded, still smiling crouching in front of his brother as the music kept blaring (<em>I've been wounded before... Hasn't let me go)</em></p><p>"It's really me, and you're really home. I don't know where you went, but you're home now, and whatever hell you were in, whoever or whatever was hurting you, I won't let it, all right? You're with me, now. You're safe. I’ll make sure of it."</p><p>(<em>Can I believe you?)</em></p><p>Five looked at him with an intensity and a relief he hadn't seen in ages, if ever.</p><p>"Diego."</p><p>Diego had never ever in his life, felt so seen, or so appreciated. It was very intense, bu not necessarily bad.</p><p>"It's me, Five. I'm still here. And I'm here for you."</p><p>Five cried for a bit longer, still shaking off the last remnants of his horrifyingly vivid flashback. God, it had been so bad, he’d really felt he was trapped there again. But he wasn’t anymore. He breathed and then composed himself, apologised for this "unseemly behaviour", which Diego dismissed.</p><p>"But if you ever need to talk... about this storm, or whatever else. You got me, ok?"</p><p>Something in Five's usually aloof expression softened.</p><p>"Thanks, Diego. I appreciate the offer. I really do."</p><p>The storm had passed.</p><p>And this time... this time he hadn't lost anything.</p><p>For once, the storm was over, and Five wasn't alone, hadn't lost anything.</p><p>"Wanna play some cards?"</p><p>Diego offered. The music still blared.</p><p>Yeah, Five wanted to play some cards.</p><p>Maybe he would even let Diego win a few times, as a thank you.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Me again. I process anxiety by writing oneshots, apparently. </p><p>The song is Can I believe you by Fleet foxes and is very very beautiful.</p><p>Anyways thanks so so so much for reading, hope you enjoyed!</p><p>You know you want to comment!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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